Precious Privilege
by Scarecrowqueen
Summary: Theirs is a simple life, full of little pleasures, like the coffee machine and seeing old friends and the smudges of paint that follow Aster everywhere he goes. Jackrabbit fluff, one-shot sequel to "If You Were Homework I'd Do You."


Jack slaps a clumsy hand down onto the alarm clock, silencing its ear-splitting screeching for yet another day. It takes a couple shoves to convince a sleepy, grumbling Aster to let him go long enough for Jack to vacate the shared bed. He hastily stumbles into the tiny bathroom, hissing a little at the cold floor on his bare feet beneath flannel pajama bottoms. Once there, he relieves himself and washing his hands, yawning widely. Behind him his boyfriend mutters in his drowsy state and hugs Jack's pillow closer, like a surrogate for the missing body heat. Jack grins a bit at Aster's routine and predictable adorableness, before he makes his way to the little corner of the apartment that calls itself the kitchen.

On the counter is the housewarming gift purchased for them by Nick and Tooth, upon the occasion of jack finally giving up dorm life and moving in to Aster's snug little bachelor pad. The coffee machine is a massive monstrosity of digital perfection, able to brew, steam, percolate and blend just about any caffeinated beverage known to man. Jack had never asked, but he knew it'd set his friends back a pretty penny. They'd tried, both Aster and himself, to decline the gift graciously, but Tooth and Nick had insisted and Jack and Aster had caved, mostly because the gesture seemed to make their friends so happy. In retrospect it had been the best decision they'd made ever, as neither one of them was coherent at all in the morning until they'd downed their body weight in espresso. Jack punches in his favorite drink, tapping his foot the whole fifteen seconds he's kept waiting for the machine to brew, and then snatches the cup greedily, the first hot sip scalding his mouth exactly the way he loved.

It's only then that Jack turns, leaning back against the counter to regard the still-sleeping body in the bed across the room. The apartment is small, something Aster gripes about but secretly loves, because it forces them into each other's personal space until it just seemed so natural to simply give way until the very air they breathed became a shared commodity. Small enough that a dozen of Jack's small steps would carry him right to the edge of the mattress and back into his boyfriend's arms for a good lie-in, but tempting as it is they both have commitments today; work and school and a Skype date with Pitch and Sandy later. Theirs is a simple life, full of little pleasures, like the coffee machine and seeing old friends and the smudges of paint that follow Aster everywhere he goes; into his hair when he runs his fingers though it, onto the taps of the sink when the goes to wash, even staining Jack's skin when they make love. Aster is a happy burst of colour onto the greyscale palette that had once been Jack's life. Even after his sister had passed, Aster had been steadfast, constant; Jack's snarky guardian angel with the paintbrush tucked behind his ear.

The main room has two small windows, each one struggling against the curtains to bathe the room in steadily growing dawn light. The rooms brightens slowly in patches, casting an attractive splay of shadow across Aster's sleeping face, the weak light accentuating the curves and dips of his unclothed torso where it rises from the mess of quilt and sheets. Aster is gorgeous like this, relaxed and glowing gently in the newness of the day. He is often silent, still, thoughtful, but in repose he gains a quality that fascinates Jack, likely because he's the only one who gets to see this.

In a moment, when Jack finishes his first coffee, he'll go wake his lover, coaxing him out of bed with a warm kiss and sending him off to shower. Jack will then make breakfast, bagels with peanut butter for both of them, Jack crunchy and Aster smooth because they can never agree. After breakfast they'll leave together, walking together as far as they can before going their separate ways. They hold hands as they do, jack's smaller, slender fingers laced through Aster's wider ones, the tiny little scars on his fingers from the hot glass he works with lending a subtle texture that only Aster could recognize.

Such is the pattern, the comfortable routine they've fallen into these past few months, winding themselves into each other's lives and space until there were no lonely, empty places left to get lost in.

For right now though, Aster sleeps on while Jack nurses his drink, mug warming his usually chilly hands. Right now, there is only silence, quietude. Right now, Jack drinks in the present as much as any coffee, content in simply existing as he is.

Right here, right now is Jack's perfect moment, and he's not trading.

(At least, not until he goes to wake Aster and is instead dragged back into bed, his protests giving way to low moans as his lover's talented hands set to work. Jack figures he's okay trading the coffee-sipping voyeurism for this, because, well, this moment is perfect too, maybe even better because now there's sex involved, and sex with Aster is the most fun thing ever. They're both fifteen minutes late out the door, and have to run to make it on time laughing like madmen the whole way, but it's totally worth it.)

(There's nothing that Aster isn't worth.)

When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive - to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love.  
**- **Marcus Aurelius


End file.
